


The Echos of The Damned

by SharkSlippers



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Spoilers, Unrequited Love, Well as fluffy as it can get I think, Would You Kindly (BioShock)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-09 09:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15264561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkSlippers/pseuds/SharkSlippers
Summary: It would easily be the worst thing he's ever done, and that thought makes him frown. It wasn't as though he actually cared for Jack - he couldn't, he refused to let himself care - but something about this new plan made him slightly uneasy.However, he quickly remembers that he isn't supposed to give a shit about Andrew Ryan's offspring, and that he had done plenty of morally reprehensible things. Even if it is, it shouldn't consider this to be any different than anything else he's done.





	The Echos of The Damned

**Author's Note:**

> I am #soz for this piece of trash

Fontaine pretends not to notice the bodies crowding the dukebox. The room seems to echo with his calculated steps and he feels eyes on his back, watching him carefully. He wasn't fazed by the careful examination, but he couldn't ignore the small annoyance that was the silence. One thing he had learned to hate about Rapture was the goddamned silence.

With that thought, Fontaine leans against the dukebox, retrieving his carton of cigarettes. He the presses down on a button. A neat click follows, then a gravelly crackle that didn't sound too promising. A few seconds of patient waiting leads to a soft whirring, then, finally, the scratchy sound of a damaged record playing. Fontaine immediately identifies the song, and whistles to the melody, lighting a cigarette and pretending not to watch his companion out of the corner of his eye.

Even if Jack belongs to him - and he did belong to him, there was no doubt about this - he still needed to be watched. Fontaine appreciates the sharp intelligence in his watchful eyes, but after the second escape attempt, he decided that maybe he needed to keep a tighter leash on his pet.

Especially since Jack had somehow rescued Tenenbaum and those creepy not-quite-human kids.

At the time, he couldn't admire the sheer audacity, but now, when he has Jack's bravery all to himself? It's an attribute that Fontaine refuses to let go, so he doesn't let Jack lose his courage.

"Well, that was fun." Fontaine eventually muses in a lazy drawl, flicking his cigarette away with a practiced hand. Predictably, Jack doesn't reply, though his shoulders tense to indicate that he is listening.

Fontaine smirks, crossing his arms as he continues, sparing a significant glance down at a particularly mutilated splicer bathing in a large pool of red. "Really got the blood rushing."

Again, silence.

Calmly, "Answer me."

Jack's jaw twitches - his usual reaction to a command, because he knew what would come next when he didn't obide. Jack rarely complied with what Fontaine ordered. It would be amusing if it didn't frustrate him so much.

Fontaine rolls his eyes, making sure to act extra dramatic and wounded by the lack of obedience, but his lips barely thinned when Jack remains stoic as ever. "Would you-"

"Don't." Jack says sharply, voice hoarse, eyes flashing with something dangerously close to betrayal. Their eyes met and Fontaine pauses, taken aback by the adulterated swirls of emotion that were too mixed to differentiate.

Fontaine decided that he didn't like how expressive Jack's eyes were.

The hurt there was close to damning. It was as though Jack still didn't know how feelings could be exploited, emotional attachments tenaciously dragged out into bitter manipulation. As though, after all Fontaine had put him through, after all of the repulsive things Fontaine had done,  _this_ was crossing a line. 

That expression of hurt, Fontaine has decided, was annoying. He'd rather not see that look pass across Jack's face again.

"Well?" He instead asked, dropping the command altogether and raising an expectant eyebrow. He decided not to relish in the quick expression of stunned gratitude before Jack placed his impassive mask back on.

Jack paused. He glanced at the piles of bodies, then looked away. His eyes were directed at the floor as he spoke. "I don't like fighting."

Fontaine hadn't expected an answer, and not one as open as that. He had become accustomed to Jack digging his heels in, and the compliance - without a command - sent a bolt of dark satisfaction through him. "No, I suppose you don't."

Jack sighed, glancing down at a particularly youthful splicer, and didn't continue to carry the conversation. Fontaine continued to watch Jack, more overtly than before, eyes drifting over then tension in his shoulders, over thinned lips.

He really is quite handsome, even with splicer blood splashed across his hands, reminding him that someone so capable - a survivor - _Jack_ was his. The darkness of red in stark contrast against pale skin, the implication of danger and capability coupled with the knowledge of Jack's submission.

Fontaine pauses, then backtracks.

He decides that he didn't think about how attractive Jack is, and is briefly thankful for Jack's adverted eyes.

The jukebox cuts to a sharp stop. With a small sigh, he spares the carnage a look. Sure, he had lost some of the splicers under his control, but that felt like nothing compared to the pleasure of watching Jack fight with ruthless efficiency.

"Come on, let's go home."

Something quick flashs across Jack's face, too fleeting to be identified. It doesn't help that he has lowered his eyes to the floor so that the shadows partially obscure his face.

Fontaine leads the way, trusting that Jack wasn't stupid enough to try and run. Jack, of course, isn't stupid, so he follows, eyes darting around the room to check for any hidden dangers.

As soon as they arrive home - or as close to home as Rapture would ever become - Jack places his gun on the table, safety on. Fontaine copies him, but watchs as Jack heads straight to the sink to wash the blood from his hands.

 _Yeah, like that's going to help._ Fontaine eyes Jack's clothes, stained almost completely with different shades of red and pink. Regardless, Jack constantly wanting to remove dried blood from his skin is part of the afternoon routine. Fontaine allows the feeling of comfortable familiarity to wash over him that now comes with the sound of running water. It's something Fontaine has come to associate with him and with home.

Fontaine gives time for Jack to root around the cupboards, pretending not to notice when Jack carefully takes the canned fruit, moving slowly in attempts to elude detection. He would be amused if Jack's actions didn't spawn from petulance and the desire to refuse anything that Fontaine provides.

"Jack." Fontaine eventually says. They're coming to the end of their routine, and as much as Fontaine hates it, he is always the one that has to cut it short. "Would you kindly fall asleep?"

Thankfully, Jack doesn't have time to look betrayed. His eyes seem heavier, and he sluggishly moves to move to the armchair that Fontaine would never admit has become Jack's. He obliges with no protest. Once Fontaine is sure that Jack is asleep, he sighs. "Would you kindly forget my previous command, and wake up six hours from now?"

There was a slight stirring, before stillness. Fontaine stays still for several seconds, making sure that Jack stays asleep. Jack doesn't know that he has nightmares, and Fontaine plans to keep it that way. For his own benefit, of course, and not because his chest feels a bit too tight when Jack is crying at things that only he can see.

Yet again, he thinks about how everything would be easier if Fontaine could solidify the binding between him and Jack. If, somehow, Jack wouldn't want to leave, and would stop attempting his increasingly disappointing escape attempts.

The answer itself comes quickly to him.

However, instead of immediately using it, he pauses.

Thinks.

It would easily be the worst thing he's ever done, and that thought makes him frown. It wasn't as though he actually cared for Jack - he couldn't, he refused to let himself care - but something about this new plan made him slightly uneasy.

However, he quickly remembers that he isn't supposed to give a shit about Andrew Ryan's offspring, and that he had done plenty of morally reprehensible things. Even if it is, it shouldn't consider this to be any different than anything else he's done.

"Would you kindly love me?" He asks to a dark room.

The silence answers him.

 

**

 

The next morning, Fontaine wakes up Jack by firing a bullet at the wall. This method was more entertaining than waiting for Jack to wake up, and ( _kinder_ ) easier than digging his heel into Jack's chest until Jack tries to dislodge the painful pressure.

Jack swears loudly, loud enough to alert any splicers if they were stupid enough to encroach on Fontaine's territory. He scrambles for his gun but freezes when he realises that he had left it on the table. He swears again, before turning to face Fontaine.

Jack swears again, furious, but this time at Fontaine.

Fontaine merely smiles at Jack in response, masking his disappointment. Jack's quick anger proved that the order hadn't worked, then, so Jack didn't love him. Perhaps he couldn't love Fontaine, could never no matter how hard he tried.

It was the most likely response, though that didn't make him less frustrated.

Fontaine waits for Jack to prepare for the day ahead. He always woke up before Jack, and enjoyed observing how disorientated this left him. Despite the sharp awakening, this morning was no different, and Fontaine watched Jack as he searches for clean clothes and thins his lips when the only jumper there wasn't the usual preference of beige.

He takes the clothes and sends a rather calculating look at Fontaine, before hastily backing away into a room to change.

Fontaine almost smiles.

 _Fucking prude_.

When Jack returns, pulling uneasily at the sleeve of a green jumper, Fontaine turns smartly on his heel and exits. Jack is smart enough to follow, and Fontaine listens to the rapid footsteps behind him.

He leads the way, occasionally pausing when he can see different paths. He knows Rapture well enough to tell when the place is too quiet. The air holds a tense stillness that would make a smart man anxious. He continues down a corridor, before coming to a halt outside of two ajar doors.

He hesitates. Jack is equally tense, eyes searching around the room for something. The room might look unassuming, but they both know that it is a perfect ambush spot.

Fontaine takes a cautious step forward.

A splicer promptly falls from the railings.

Immediately, Jack fires a rapid stream of bullets at it, before pausing. Fontaine almost frowns at how quickly Jack reacts to these things, before remembering that he isn't supposed to care about how much Rapture has changed Jack. Upon closer inspection, the splicer had been dead before it hit the floor.

Typical.

Goddamn  _Rapture_.

Jack sighes, coming to the same conclusion that Fontaine has. Neither move forward, despite the silence offering an apparent safety that they both know is an illusion.

"Great weather, huh." Fontaine offers, gesturing up the ceiling with a small grin. Before Jack had realised the truth about Atlas, it would have earned a witty add-on, or at least a small laugh.

Instead, Jack glares at him.

"Oh, tough crowd." Fontaine muses, nudging the dead splicer with the muzzle of his gun. Jack thins his lips, though he can't blame Jack for being frustrated at the lack of normalcy Rapture has.

They're both waiting for whatever threw the body over the rails, and they're not disappointed.

The splicer shrieks - a stupid move, giving away its position before it attacks - then jumps down from the railings.

The splicer lunges straight for Jack, wielding the wrench with a distinct lack of sophistication. Fontaine grabs Jack's arm, pulling him behind him. He waits for a second - long enough for Jack to regain stance and for the splicer to turn, before opening fire in the splicer stupid enough to go after Jack.

He stops firing to reload, but the splicer is already dead. Fontaine almost rolls his eyes at the lack of skill splicers present, but instead turns to face Jack and make sure the splicer's flailing didn't catch him.

Unbelievably, Jack has a tiny smile on his face. He's completely unharmed and Fontaine isn't surprised. He knows that Jack is careful, but he can't help but sometimes ( _worry_ ) wonder.

Fontaine raises an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

Jack nodded to the dead splicer, a bit sheepish at being caught. "Overkill."

Fontaine frowned. He supposes over twenty bullets for one is a bit of an overkill. Without a word, he passes besides the splicers, correctly assessing the room as no longer posing a threat. As usual Jack follows, though he puts less distance as to how close he walks, showing that Fontaine's (admittedly overdramatic, and almost a waste of roughly twenty bullets) protection didn't go unnoticed.

Fontaine smirks, but doesn't mention this. It's better to keep silence than to scare Jack off, so he leads the way out of the room, into a different corridor. Normally, he would send one of his splicers to clear out the area around his home, but there was something better about Jack fighting for him - _with_ him.

The corridor introduces another splicer, one that is rocking a beer bottle back and forth as though it were an infant. It doesn't have a chance to draw a gun before Fontaine shoots.

Jack is frowning, but he still disarms the dead splicer, removing the ammo but discarding the gun. He seems to be thinking about something, evaluating the area with sharp eyes.

"What are you thinking?" Fontaine asks, watching Jack move around the room, his steps laced with caution. Jack turns quickly, startled at the sudden speech, but recovers quickly.

"Nothing." Jack lies, and judging by the grimace he tries to hide immediately after, he knows how bad of a lie it is.

"Bullshit." Fontaine retorts. Jack thins his lips, but when Fontaine doesn't press, his eyebrows raised. He was waiting for the command that seemed inevitable, but it didn't come.

Jack seems to hesitate, internally debating with himself on whether he should tell Fontaine or not, before sighing. Fontaine supposes the fact that Jack is considering to obey is a step forward, albeit a small step.

 

**

 

When they return, later than expected, Jack puts his gun on safety and places it on the table. However, instead of copying Jack, Fontaine retrieves the first aid kid from his room. Jack thought that he was subtly hiding his injury, but the way he stiffly held his arm was a bit of a giveaway.

Jack, of course, was far too stubborn to ask for anything, and would rather deal with a deep stab wound than show the slightest trace of vulnerability to Fontaine.

When Fontaine returns, he notices how Jack is trying to inconspicuously apply pressure to his wound. Jack knows he's been caught out, knows that Fontaine is aware of his injury, but it waiting for Fontaine's reaction.

Fontaine knows that he has to tread carefully. Jack was stubborn and deeply protective of himself, and the mere idea that he needed help from someone else was enough to make him skittish.

Fontaine steps forward, before tapping Jack's jumper expectantly. "Off."

Jack thins his lips, evidently reluctant, but surprisingly, he complies. The wound is worse than Fontaine had predicted, the cut stretching from his arm to his back. 

Jack grimaces. Both of them know that he can't stitch up his back, though Fontaine knows that, given the chance, Jack would probably still try.

Instead of pointing out that Jack was stupid for forgetting to dodge the attack, he cleans the wound. The position is awkward but necessary for Fontaine to be able to clean the cut efficiently. Jack has his head resting against Fontaine's chest, having dubbed that less awkward than having to watch Fontaine work on his arm and back.

The injury is far too deep to even attempt stitching without anesthesia. Without warning, he injects the drug into Jack's arm. Jack grits his teeth, gripping onto Fontaine's shirt with both hands and staining the white with a light pink, but Fontaine doesn't mention it.

"I know, but we need to sort this out, or it'll get worse." Fontaine says, and it's closest to an apology he will ever get.

Once Jack has lost consciousness, Fontaine stitches up the wound as quickly as possible. It would scar, but Jack didn't seem to care too much about scarring. As carefully as he can, Fontaine lifts Jack and places him on his bed. His armchair was out of the question, since Jack would have to rest on his back, and Fontaine doesn't really want a repeat of this evening.

Jack doesn't react when he is settled, or when a quilt is carefully draped halfway up his back, a few centimeters away from the wound.

Fontaine briefly considers asking Jack to forget him stitching Jack up, before realising it would raise more questions. Jack was getting better at deducing when Fontaine has asked him to forget something, and Fontaine would rather avoid the explanations.

"Would you kindly wake up in eight hours?" Fontaine asks, because Jack needs to rest more now that he's recovering. He heals far quicker than anyone Fontaine's ever met, but it doesn't mean Jack isn't prone to tiredness, or doesn't need to rest less than anyone else.

He watches Jack, traces the scars visible across his back with a small frown. Fontaine didn't do love. The feeling was far too pure for Fontaine to be remotely interested in it, but Jack was the exception.

Jack always had to be the exception.

 _Damn it_.

Caring about someone else would never end well, yet Fontaine was beginning to not care about the potential consequences. He really shouldn't be surprised by this development, but Jack was always a goddamn surprise.

"Would you kindly love me back?" Fontaine asks, and _damn it_ , he sounds so _fucking_ pathetic. Jack isn't awake to hear him, a small mercy.

Fontaine wants to try again, because it hurt. Having Jack close to him, yet so distant, was a special kind of torture that Fontaine supposes he deserves.

 

**

 

The next morning, Fontaine arranges a small group of his splicers to patrol around his area with the promise of ADAM at the end of the day. He refuses to admit that he is waiting for Jack to wake up so he can have his company. An hour passes before Jack awakens, well rested and very confused.

"You helped me." Jack says, glancing behind him and at the open door to Fontaine's room before staring at Fontaine.

"Don't get used to it." Fontaine replies, but he knows that his casual dismissal doesn't work on Jack. Jack continues to watch him, picking up on Fontaine's tension with sharp eyes and frowning.

"Why?" Jack asks, and it sounds as though he is waiting for another piece to connect a hypothesis together.

Fontaine considers his answers. "I'd rather not have the only sane person die on me."

"I wasn't going to die." Jack dismisses, though he continues to stare at Fontaine, in deep thought. "Thank you."

This startles Fontaine, but he tries to recover as quickly as possible. "It won't happen again."

"I'd do the same for you." Jack says quietly. His voice carries a heavy meaning, one that Fontaine attempts to work out. Jack, however, notices Fontaine trying to deduce what he had meant. Instead of shying away and leaving his words hanging in the air, he gives a tiny, wry smile.

"Even if it meant I was hurt for doing so." Jack adds, and waits.

Fontaine knows what that means, because he's thought of it about Jack more times than he can care to count. "Holy shit."

"Since Atlas." He confirms, eyes soft. "Not that it matters."

"It matters." Fontaine says, hating the way his voice sounded but he didn't care enough to backtrack - not when Jack was suggesting something that demanded his full attention. If Fontaine was correct - and he was rarely wrong - it explained the two failed commands that weren't actually failed, but redundant.

Jack frowns, watching Fontaine carefully. There's a new light to his eyes - one that looks suspiciously like hope - before he forces his expression to return to impassive. "Why?"

"I value your existence more than the splicers." Fontaine shrugs, trying to sound uncaring and missing the mark. It's the closest to _'I love you_ ' Fontaine will ever allow Jack to hear. If he had said this to anyone else, the double meaning would appear to be a threat, underlining a precarious edge to their position in Fontaine's life.

Jack, however, has always been the exception, and hears the underlying message for what it is with a small grin.


End file.
